


Thirty Days

by 1nkmistress_1ra



Series: Fanfic February [1]
Category: Summoner Series - Taran Matharu
Genre: Assassins In Training, Blood, Catharsis for me, Drinking, Elves, Gen, I never finished this idea, Stuff, VICTIMS EVERYWHERE, i dunno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-31 06:25:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17844131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1nkmistress_1ra/pseuds/1nkmistress_1ra
Summary: Fletcher, after escaping with the help of an unknown assassin, makes a deal and is put on a timer of thirty days to train and kill three people he knows without getting caught.





	Thirty Days

The labour was already taking its toll on Fletcher, who wondered how his life now was any different than in the cells. At least he had better air and more space, he told himself. That cell hadn’t done much good for his psyche. 

No one was permitted a pickaxe, for rather obvious reasons, so, yes, everything was done by hand unless needed. If so were the case, some prisoners were forced to call a guard over, and the chances of doing so without consequence were waning. 

The man beside him looked even worse, looking like he’d been in the Mines longer than anyone else. His silver hair dirtied and his face bore a nasty gash that dragged from his forehead to his cheek. He hauled away at the gold mines for hours at a time, maybe days if he were given the chance. He sent another cart of gold and minerals down the shaft and cursed when he heard a crunch on the other end. 

“Another one!” he shouted down the mines, and the others couldn’t do much more than groan, Fletcher winced as the body was removed, leaving a blood trail and the faint rattling of bones. 

“Hold this,” the man beside him said and held out a torch. He continued to carve away as an empty cart showed up on the rails. 

He hauled an ore over his shoulder and threw it in, allowing it to crack. Fletcher couldn’t help but winc, before he spoke up. “You know, bringing them back damaged could do more harm to you than good.”

“I’ve been here three years past my sentence. Ain’t nothing they can do that can’t push me further.” he spat for distance and it landed in the metal cart. Fletcher flinched when he bared his teeth in a sneer as he continued with his work. Maybe, it was the exhaustion getting to him, but Fletcher could have sworn he saw the man had fangs. 

“So, what are you in for?” he asked and pulled a vial from his pockets.

“Whoa, where’d-” The man slapped a hand over Fletcher’s mouth before he could finish. “Don’t tell anyone. It’s the only thing keeping me sane in here.” he took a swig before handing it to Fletcher. “Drink up. You’ll need it.”

Fletcher did, downing the rest of it in seconds before tossing it aside, though the man looked disappointed he did that. He then brushed it off. “Eh, let them find it. They’ll clean and refill it. So, your sentence?”

“As long as possible, I guess. They never said how long.”

“The reason you’re here?”

Fletcher looked down. 

“Here, I’ll go first.” the man continued. “I failed to kill Zachariah.”

“You tried to kill him?”

“Let’s just say I don’t have the prettiest history with them Forsyths.”

“Oh…” Fletcher twiddled his thumbs, as the man looked curiously on at him. “I just got out of prison… ”

The man furrowed his brow. 

“Whatcha doin’ here for?”

“A negotiation deal, unfortunately.” he let out a sharp huff of regret. “Well, it was that or execution. I’m getting it, either way, I guess.”

“Fah… Let me clue you in on a little something, kid. Sometimes rolling with the punches is the easier way out. Ya just can’t let your guard down. Here, I’ll let you know when I need a distraction and we can get the hell out of here.”

“You’ve found a way to escape?”

“I’ve had dozens of plans, you can see where that went. How do you think I got  _ this _ ?” he gestured to his scar. 

\---

“I feel this one should take a beating this time.”

Fletcher recognised the voice. Tarquin. 

The chains around his feet released, but another set was clipped onto his wrists and he was taken to a small circular area of dirt where the other prisoners watched. Fletcher had no time to watch as the man started to work his magic on the pocket of a guard. Then, he let out a cry as the leather came down on his back. Then another, then another, over and over until he felt blood leak. 

He went rigid as another blow stung the open wound. He cursed, bit his lip, and let out another curse as the cat o’ nine tails sprayed hot blood around the area. 

“I think he’s had enough… ” 

At first, Fletcher couldn’t identify the speaker until he heard the gurgling. In a flash, the rope around his wrists was severed. The man stood tall and proud with a sword in hand and the keys in the other. Fletcher would have guessed that Tarquin would come down with more than three guards, but he was thankful he was wrong. 

The man shoved the sword into the second guard and stole his weapon too. “Catch!” he shouted and the sword seemed to fall into Fletcher's hands. 

The man did most of the heavy lifting, watching Fletcher's back as the latter started freeing the elders, then children. 

“I’ll take care of the guards, there‘s a passage further into the mines that will lead out by the castle.” He stole another sword and handed it to him.

“Find what you need and get the hell out of dodge.”

By then, Fletcher had forgotten about Tarquin, and he almost met the tip of a sword blade when he turned around. Tarquin had slashed the shins of most of the freed people, and the children cowered back in their respective corners. 

He’d just have to take care of them later. 

“Never expected this from you. You used to be such a good boy,” Tarquin spat, like an angry parent, more mocking him than anything. 

Then he charged. 

Fletcher's focus was more on dodging and getting out, more than anything. But Tarquin was turning it more into a dance to the death. 

“Kid, break his stance! This should be sword fighting 101!” The man shouted from behind. 

He beat back another guard and stole another sword. 

Then FLetcher had an idea. He hooked a shackle around his foot and yanked it over nearer. He’d need it. Fletcher adjusted himself accordingly and started to back up, as Tarquin swung and parried. Fletcher just needed that particular spot… 

Back and forth, the swords clashed, neither landing a blow deeper than a graze until Fletcher stumbled back and hit the wall. He cried out, the pain shooting through his spine. 

He struggled to hold his ground as Tarquin’s blade neared his throat as only a sliver of energy separated him and his ultimate doom. 

Fletcher looked own at the open shackles, and couldn’t help but smile and nudged one over Tarquin’s foot. He shot down, the sword embedding itself into the dirt, and with a single hand, locked the metal around Tarquin’s ankle and dove straight for Tarquin’s stomach before the latter could stab him. They flew almost a metre out before Tarquin's ankle snagged on the chain, sending a few more people back from their work. 

Neither the man nor Fletcher could believe the latter’s plan worked, and the duo dashed down the shaft. 

\---

“What about the cart? We couldn’t take that?” Fletcher asked. 

“We’ll perish if we take it down. There’s a small hill down here, and it should lead… ” he slowed and listened as the voices of the others trying to free Tarquin echoed through the darkened chamber. 

Fletcher felt his pockets only for the man to hold up the keys. “Picked your pockets. Didn’t trust that you’d hang on to them.” 

“Thanks… ”

“Don’t thank me yet. Thank me when I actually get us out of here.”

The trek was long enough Flecther had to relight the torch a few times. The man gestured to a small corridor with a heavy wooden door. 

“Alright, kid, you’re almost free!”

He threw the door open and Fletcher ran out, fresh sunlight hitting his skin for the first time in weeks. 

He flopped onto the ground and squirmed in it, like one would in snow. 

“Oh my heavens, I never thought grass would be this good,” Fletcher said. 

“I’ve had that feeling.” The man said. 

Fletcher rolled down the hill before stopping before he could fall any further, hauling himself up. 

“I’m Fletcher, by the way,” he introduced and held his hand out. 

“Latamer,” the man responded, shaking his hand.  When Fletcher pulled away, a flask was in his hand. 

“Drink, we’re out of the pan and in the fire.”

Fletcher did, at first careful, he was drinking whiskey, but was mildly surprised when he tasted water. He heard Latamer crack his knuckles and muttering, but there was nothing decipherable about it. Finally, he said something Fletcher understood. “Where’s someplace we can go, though?”

Fletcher pulled away from the water. “‘We?’” he repeated. 

“Yes, ‘we.’ You don’t look the type to stay out for too long. I’ll help you get back to your home, but that’s as far as I’ll take you.”

“No!”

For the first time, Latamer showed a sign of vulnerability: he flinched, then looked around. Fletcher lowered his tone. “I can’t go back home, but I do know a place you can take me.”

“Where to?”

“You heard of Vocans Academy?”

Latamer frowned. 

“Yeah, I got expelled.”

“You know Magic?!”

Latamer noted the slight irritation, and he knew what Fletcher was thinking. He shut him down, “I only  _ know _ magic. I don’t  _ practice _ it.”

Fletcher seemed to soften after that. “So, you can’t perform any magic?”

“I can’t conjure a fire, like you can. But I have my strengths,” he added. 

Latamer searched him up and down. “You certainly look like you’ve had your fair share of hell, I’ll give you that. I can’t believe I still remember your first day, taking a beating for that poor kid.”

Fletcher grimaced at the memory. 

“Why are you bringing this up?”

“It swayed me to like you, to say the least. Sure, it’s so sweet that I’d heave, and I expected you to break after the first three weeks. You didn’t.”

“So you like me?”

“Indeed. So much so that I want to strike a deal.”

Fletcher adjusted his grip on the flask. “What kind of deal?” 

“Well, for some background, I’m an assassin.”

“I’ve never heard of you.”

“Well, I don’t exactly want to be caught, now, do I? And neither do you. I can teach you to kill a king in thirty days with any weapon, makeshift or otherwise, and in return, you kill three people you know.”

Fletcher reeled back.

Latamer’s face turned grim. “Listen, boy, I don’t want to be caught and thrown in as much as the next man, but I’m all you have. Besides, who’s to say that Vocans,” he said ‘Vocans’ like it was derogatory, “isn’t going to snitch and turn you back into the Forsythes.”

Fletcher thought of the lashings and grimaced. 

Latamer extended a hand, and for the first time, he noticed a small blue rune on the back of his hand. 

“Do we have a deal?” he asked. 

Fletcher started to reach out but stopped short, looked behind him, then back at Latamer, before shaking his hand. There was a pinch in his hand, like a needle came from Latamer’s hand and pierced through all the way. 

Latamer pulled away when his rune tattoo sparked. Literally sparked. He looked at the back of his own, and saw a matching rune and started to panic.

“The Deal’s sealed. Remember, three bodies, don’t get caught, and you’re free.”


End file.
